


True Lies

by Glassdarkly



Series: Second Front [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Drama, F/M, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdarkly/pseuds/Glassdarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Willow: Well, just because those weren't the spirits of, you know, our people... just because it was some evil thing, doesn't mean what they said can't be true.</i> </p><p>  <i>Anya: I used to tell the truth all the time when I was evil.</i><br/>Sleeper, BtVS season 7</p><p>Giles comes face to face with the enemy and learns a few home truths. </p><p>The third story in the Second Front series, an alternate canon BtVS season 7. Set some time around <i>Lessons/Beneath You</i>. </p><p>First posted to the Summer of Giles Livejournal community in July 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Lies

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains mention of Spike's attempted rape of Buffy in BtVS season 6.

Giles closed the front door very quietly behind him. The hallway of the Westbury house was dark, the air hushed. 

He listened to the silence for a moment, letting it settle over him like a familiar, rather fusty-smelling blanket. After a frantic week in London – the Tube had been a nightmare!- surrounded by frightened young women all in need of guidance and protection but not the least bit grateful to have found it, the relief of hearing nothing at all was enormous. 

Taking off his coat, Giles hung it on the coat stand and set his hand on the banister, not without a longing glance at the drawing room door. Ms Harkness liked the occasional tipple and she kept a well-stocked drinks cabinet, to which Giles just so happened to have the key. 

After a moment, he sighed and set his foot on the bottom step. It wouldn’t do. He needed a clear head when he explained to Spike that this was yet another fleeting visit. 

“Rupert?” 

The voice was so soft that at first Giles thought he’d imagined it, but even so, his heart lurched in his chest. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he looked back over his shoulder, skin crawling. It couldn’t be….

She was standing in the drawing room doorway, one hand resting on the frame. She wore the same pale, floral print dress she'd been wearing the last time he'd seen her alive. He gaped at her slim shape, the dark hair and speaking eyes, while the blood pounded in his ears.

“Jenny?” 

Her lips curved in a gentle smile. “Yes, Rupert. It’s me.” 

Giles's grip on the banister seemed to be all that was keeping him on his feet. 

"No. No, it can't be." His voice was a strangled croak

Jenny’s smile faltered.

"Guess I knew you'd say that, but it still kind of hurts all the same."

Drusilla! Was Drusilla here? Giles tore his gaze away from the apparition and gazed wildly up and down the hall, almost expecting to see the mad vampire lurking in the shadows. Was he under her thrall again? 

Had she come for Spike? 

Jenny craned in the direction of his gaze. "What are you looking at, Rupert? There's no one here except us two."

Giles hung on to the banister for dear life.

"You can't be real. This is some trick, like last time."

"Last time?" Jenny smiled quizzically. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She took a step forward and Giles found he'd let go of the banister and that his back was pressed to the wall. 

"Stay away from me."

Jenny looked hurt. "Okay." She folded her arms, almost hugging herself. "If that's what you really want."

"Oh, it is," Giles assured her. Under his breath, he muttered a swift incantation. If this was an illusion, the counter-spell should strip it away.

A slight shudder went through Jenny's slim body, but she remained Jenny.

"Hey now, there's no need for that," she protested. 

Giles stared. He said the counter-spell again, but again, the apparition stayed constant. It really was Jenny, or her revenant, not some sorcerer’s glamour. Sweat was pouring off him now – shock and fear. He wondered if, away in his garret, Spike would smell it and come running.

When he looked at Jenny again, her mouth had turned down at the corners and her dark eyes glistened. 

"You're thinking about _him_ , aren't you?"

"What?" Giles blinked at her. "What are you talking about? Who sent you?"

The ghost of Jenny took another step forward. 

"No one sent me. I came because I had to. Because you needed me. You have to stop, Rupert. Before it's too late."

"Stop?" Giles's brain was whirling. All he could do was repeat the apparition's words like an idiot. 

Jenny's eyes were full of pity. "Poor, poor Rupert. So sad. So alone."

Suddenly between one eye-blink and the next she was right in front of him, and not only did she look like Jenny, she smelt like her too – the faintest hint of that scent Jenny had always worn, sandalwood and jasmine. 

She set a finger to his lips; not quite touching them. "It's why I can almost forgive you for letting that…creature take my place."

Giles stared at her, as if mesmerised. 

"I don't…" he faltered, licking dry lips. "You mean Spike, don't you?"

Her upraised finger fell away and she took a step back. 

"Is that its name? I didn't know."

"Jenny…" Giles began again, but she’d already turned her shoulder to him, like a reproach.

"How could you, Rupert? Have you forgotten what they did to me?"

Suddenly, clear as anything, Giles smelt the sickly-sweet odour of crimson rose petals crushed underfoot. He stood in his bedroom door and stared at the limp form on the bed, neck twisted at an impossible angle, blank eyes staring.

He swallowed hard. "I haven't forgotten. I could never…forget."

Jenny whirled to face him. "That's bullshit, Rupert, and you know it."

"It's not…" Giles began, but whatever self-justificatory thing he'd been going to say died on his lips. 

"A vampire killed me,” Jenny hissed. “Chased me to my death - broke my neck. And yet here you are, neglecting your duty, turning your back on your Slayer, because you're hot for this – monster?" Her eyes were like stone. "I loved you, Rupert. Now, you disgust me." 

“Jenny…”Giles tried to speak but the words wouldn’t squeeze past the tight feeling in his throat. He reached out a hand towards her, then let it drop to his side.

Jenny’s face softened again. She smiled sadly. 

“I know it’s not really your fault. You're only human, and creatures like him prey on human weakness. But all the same, I thought better of you.”

“I’m…” Giles coughed. His eyes were stinging. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Jenny stared at him, dark gaze accusing. “Are you really, Rupert?”

Sweat was dripping into Giles’s eyes and his skin felt clammy and cold. The apparition of Jenny seemed to sway in front of him, glowing faintly with its own inner light, insubstantial as a willo-the-wisp.

It was hard to look away from those dark pools of eyes. Giles blinked, trying to bring them into focus. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. 

“Yes. God – yes.” 

The ghost of Jenny looked dubious. Then she nodded.

“Okay, but I can’t just take your word for it, Rupert. You’ve hurt me too much for that.”

She swayed closer again. “I think you know what you have to do.”

A cold hand seemed to seize Giles’s heart and squeeze. “I’m not going to kill him.” His voice wavered and steadied. “I can’t do that. He’s under my protection." 

His vision was still blurred. Taking off his glasses, he wiped them on his sleeve. When he put them back on, he could feel his hand trembling.

Jenny swam into focus again; pale, with the two black pits of eyes, expression half-puzzled, half-sorrowful. 

“I don’t get it, Rupert. This is a vampire we’re talking about – a killer.” Her voice took on an insinuating, almost sly, note. “And murder’s not all he’s guilty of, is it?”

Giles wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. It was all too plain what the apparition was alluding to.

“Poor Buffy!” Jenny sighed, softly. “If only she knew what you do in bed with that thing, after what it tried to do to her? What would she say?” 

She swayed closer again. “Ever thought about that, Rupert, huh?”

Giles shut his eyes. The apparition’s words seemed to burn, and try as he might, he couldn’t help picturing the look on Buffy’s face – the shock – the sense of betrayal – when she found out.

His stomach churned. She must never find out! Never!

All at once, he was filled with fury – against himself for being so weak and most of all against Spike, for seducing him. 

He opened his eyes to see the ghost of Jenny standing right in front of him, solemn-faced, like a judge.

“What do you want me to do?” 

Jenny tilted her head to one side, and Giles shivered as he saw the finger-shaped bruise marks on her delicate throat.

“Get rid of it.” Her voice ghosted in his ears. “It doesn’t deserve you, Rupert. It doesn’t deserve your pity.”

Giles licked dry lips. “You’re right.”

Jenny smiled. “Of course I am. If you won’t be a man and kill it, throw it back down into the dark.” She leaned closer, voice a sibilant whisper that seemed to echo inside Giles’s skull. “Tell it to get to hell, where it belongs.” 

Get to hell? Giles frowned. Where had he heard those words before? He blinked, blinked again, trying to remember. And then he saw it - the merest hint of a triumphant smirk on Jenny’s lips. 

At once, as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in his face, his head cleared. He took a pace forward, fists clenched. 

“You’re not Jenny. What the hell are you?” 

The apparition gave back before him The smirk was gone, but there was something else there now – an aura of sheer, pure malevolence that wrapped it around like a shroud, and suddenly, with a knees-weakening jolt of terror, Giles knew where he’d felt it before; out in the dark fields the time he’d followed Spike to the solitary tree.

“Get away from me!” he hissed, through gritted teeth. He raised his arm in a warding gesture.

The apparition’s black eyes flashed. “Pathetic!” it snarled. “Weak, like all your kind.” It advanced on him, the cloud of spite around it bellying out like a thunderhead, until Giles felt crushed under its weight.” Keep your precious little catamite, then, for all the good it’ll do you.”

It was inches away from him, white face, white dress, the only points of contrast in the throbbing fury of the dark, when suddenly there was the sound of a door opening at the end of the hall and Ms Harkness’s voice rang out.

“Light!” 

Giles flung up an arm to protect his eyes.

*

Giles’s hand was trembling again. He raised his glass to his lips, the amber liquid slopping dangerously near the rim.

From the far side of her desk, Ms Harkness regarded him with flint-grey eyes. 

“Slowly, Rupert. You’ve had a nasty shock.”

“Yes.” The scotch burned as Giles swallowed. “I must admit, I’ve felt better.”

He set the glass down on the desk while he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face again. His heart was no longer pounding fit to burst, but he was still sweating like a pig. 

Ms Harkness watched him, her shrewd gaze going from his face to his shaking hands and back again. “One assumes that the appearance of this… intruder is tied in somehow with our guest?”

Giles picked up his glass again and took another sip. “I’m certain of it. Tied in also with that other business I told you about – the murders. Everything's connected.”

He made a wry face as he remembered saying the exact same thing to Willow, only in rather a different context.

“I thought as much.” Ms Harkness’s face was sombre. “To be brutally frank, Rupert, I’ve been expecting something like this ever since you brought your vampire here.” 

Giles paused with the glass half way to his mouth. There was something about her tone….

“He’s not ‘my’ vampire. And I thought you approved of my decision.”

Ms Harkness sighed. “Whether I approve or not has no bearing on whether it was the right decision at the time. It was, Rupert. I’ve no problem with that.”

“Oh?” More scotch slid down Giles's throat in a fiery rush. “That would suggest there’s something you do have a problem with, Harriet.”

Ms Harkness leaned forward across the desk. “There is, though it’s rather delicate. I’m not sure that it’s something you and I can discuss without acute embarrassment.”

“Oh.” Giles felt himself flushing. “That.”

“Yes.” Ms Harkness pursed her lips, obviously uncomfortable. “And from the effect on you of whatever this apparent old flame of yours said, I would say you’re not wholly unaware that it is a dubious area.”

The apparition’s words about Buffy seemed to be playing on an endless loop inside Giles’s head. Again, he imagined himself withering under her scorn. And in fact scorn would be the least of it, and the least of what he deserved. 

He cleared his throat. “I agree, the relationship is – er, problematic, to put it mildly. But Spike has a soul now. He’s changed. You could almost say he’s a different person.”

The irony of the words struck him even as they passed his lips. Hadn’t he heard Buffy say the same thing about Angel many times and dismissed her words as childish nonsense? 

Ms Harkness smiled a rather frosty smile. “You misunderstand me, Rupert. Of course, I have concerns along those lines. This is a vampire we're talking about, and humans and vampires make for a very uneasy mix at the best of times. But I am worried for you for another reason– which is that you don’t seem to be aware of quite what you’re doing.”

Giles could feel himself getting angry now. Interfering old….

“I know perfectly well what I’m doing,” he snapped, as he reached for the decanter.

“I hope not,” Ms Harkness said, softly, “or I would be forced to think badly of you, Rupert, and that would…distress me.”

Giles paused with his hand outstretched. “What do you mean, Harriet?”

The lines in Ms Harkness’s withered face deepened as she frowned. “This Spike - he’s not in his right mind. Anyone can see that - except you, apparently. Otherwise I’m at a loss to explain why you continue to take advantage of him.”

Anger surged through Giles, like an incoming tide. He gaped at her, too furious even to speak.

Ms Harkness didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry, Rupert, but in my opinion, you should have turned him down when he first made advances to you. I doubt even then he really knew what he was doing. But the more unbalanced he becomes, the more inappropriate the –er, physical connection." 

Her voice was severe. "If you mean it about trying to help him, that isn't what he needs from you.”

Giles opened his mouth to deny the charge, but still words failed him. Instead, a small voice inside his head was busy reminding him that he’d said as much to Spike the first night they’d slept together. _I tried to say no_ , his own voice protested, but the other replied, _not hard enough_.

His anger began to sputter, like a sinking fire, the coals all turned to grey ash. He felt slightly sick.

“I’m not saying the physical side of your relationship should _never_ be – er, consummated.” Ms Harkness’s tone was compassionate, but tinged with embarrassment. “Just that now is very much not the time. He’s vulnerable to the dark, Rupert, and your infatuation with him makes you vulnerable too, hence this evening’s…incident. Between you, you've let something in."

Infatuation? Yet again, Giles opened his mouth to defend himself, but again no words came. Instead, he pictured in his mind that first day when Spike had come to his flat in Bath and he'd watched him bathing, secretly enthralled by the sight of that inhuman, perfect body while affecting to feel only contempt for it.

"You wanted me," Spike had said, referring to the incident later. "Don't deny it."

Giles swallowed hard, while the censorious inner voice hissed in his ear, _you just took what you wanted and damn the consequences, Rupert, didn’t you? Like him_. 

Ms Harkness leaned forward, hands with their long arthritic fingers knotted together.

"Also," she said, "I can’t believe his sudden arrival at your flat was a coincidence. Has this vampire ever evinced any attraction to you before, Rupert?”

"No." The word came out a strangled whisper, while Giles's brain went off at another sickening tangent, mind racing, trying to remember Spike's exact words. But all he could think of was the expression in the false Jenny's eyes as she threw accusations at him – accusations that Ms Harkness was now repeating.

"Hang on a minute." He sat up abruptly, relief washing over him. "That can't be right, Harriet. The apparition – what it said to me. It wanted me to kill him or drive him away. If this evil power – whatever it is - doesn't want me near Spike, why on earth would it set him on to seduce me?"

Ms Harkness looked pensive. "I don't know. But if you're right about the connection between this incident and the murders of those poor girls, I think it's safe to assume our enemy has more than one string to its bow."

The logic of her argument was inescapable. And now Giles remembered how he'd watched Spike scrabbling in the earth with his bare hands, overcome with the chill feeling that he was watching his own grave being dug.

"Chin up, Rupert." Ms Harkness watched, lips pursed in disapproval, as Giles poured himself another generous tot of whisky. "If it's any comfort, from my limited observations, I'm inclined to believe the vampire does have some genuine feelings for you. But that doesn't mean he can't still be the instrument of evil and that it can't use him to weaken you, and through you, harm the Slayer."

Giles went cold. He stared at her, horror struck. Then he drained his glass in one quick gulp. "You're right. Of course, you're right." 

His hand was shaking again as he put the glass down on the desk. He’d been an old fool, and a thoughtless one to boot.

For the second time that night, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

Ms Harkness stood up and went over to the window. The heavy velvet curtains were only half-drawn and as she peered out into the night. Giles half-expected to see something monstrous lurking outside, staring in at them through the panes, but there was nothing save the warm, golden reflection of lamplight. Even so, the room felt like a fragile haven surrounded by malevolent darkness. 

Giles shivered. "Harriet?"

When Ms Harkness turned back, she seemed taller somehow, her steel grey hair bright as silver, her wrinkled face hawk-like and proud. 

"It's out there," she said. "Waiting in the dark. Plotting its next move. We must act quickly, Rupert."

Giles shuddered. "I'm listening." Her advice had never failed him yet, nor his father before him. 

Ms Harkness's voice became brisk. "Firstly, there's young Willow to consider. We've helped her come to terms with what she did, but my instinct is that if she's to heal, she needs to go back to her friends. We can’t do any more for her."

"You think so?" At Ms Harkness’s very definite nod, Giles sighed. "I'll talk to her in the morning."

Ms Harkness gestured out of the window. "Take her into the fields, Rupert. _You_ know where. There's a great wrongness spreading through the earth. She's a sensitive little thing. She'll soon notice it."

"And Spike?" Giles realised he was hanging on her every word. 

Ms Harkness pursed her lips again. "This ghost from your past, whatever it really is, wanted you to drive him away – no doubt so that it could sequester him somewhere and work its will on him undisturbed. Therefore, you must keep him close to you at all times.”

Giles leaned forward earnestly. “That might not be possible. You know what important work I’m currently engaged in, Harriet. The risk to these young women and the Slayer line….”

Ms Harkness interrupted him. “…will in my opinion only be increased if this vampire is parted from the only person with whom he feels safe. You’re his anchor, Rupert, like it or not.” 

Giles swallowed. "You're saying…"

"Yes, keep him close but not too close. Watch him, even help him, since you did promise.” Her lips tightened into a thin, disapproving line. “But keep your baser appetites under control and your head clear."

Giles couldn't help raising an eyebrow at the description. "Baser appetites?"

Ms Harkness remained tight-lipped. "Forgive the expression. In my day, one didn't talk about such things, especially not with men- and especially not with men young enough to be one's own children."

For the first time that evening, Giles found himself inclined to smile. Perhaps he should have ignored her injunction of years ago to call her by her first name and continued to address her as 'auntie'?

He made to get up. "I'd better go and break the news to Spike that we're leaving, then. I can’t stay much beyond mid-morning."

"Yes." Ms Harkness returned his smile. "Believe it or not, I shall be almost sorry to see him go. He seems rather sweet natured under the exterior bluster. On the other hand, it'll be nice not to have to hide all the kitchen knives."

"Ah." The familiar chill ran down Giles’s spine. "Why didn't you say earlier?"

Ms Harkness grimaced. "I would have, but events forestalled me. Have a care, Rupert. So far, he's more of a danger to himself than anyone, but that could change."

"I will." Giles got to his feet. He made to go around the desk, meaning to give her a quick peck on the cheek, but the forbidding expression on her face stopped him in his tracks. He closed the study door softly behind him as he left.

*

Giles made his way through the darkened house, not without many glances back over his shoulder. Every nook and cranny seemed full of shadow, and every shadow pulsed with menace.

The Westbury house was no longer an inviolate haven, and Giles felt an acute sense of shame that it had happened because of him. Ms Harkness was right, as usual. Sex and all its concomitant heightened emotions were so easily exploited by the wicked when they knew what they were about.

The question remained – just how ignorant _was_ Spike of what ailed him. And if he were as much a victim as he seemed, would it be possible to free him without killing him?

Outside Spike's garret room, Giles paused with his hand on the doorknob. His gut was churning, both at the thought that Spike might have been deceiving him all this time, and at the thought that Spike might in the end be beyond saving.

Then the silence was shattered by a heavy impact inside the room, followed by a hoarse cry, and Spike's voice, pleading brokenly. 

"No – please! Leave me alone!"

"Oh dear lord!" Giles flung the door open on chaos. The bed was on its side, the mattress and bedclothes tossed onto the floor. The wardrobe door stood wide open, its contents scattered – clothes and shoes; all the things that Giles had brought for Spike on his last visit shredded as if by an animal's claws. The little side table was overturned, and Spike's small library of dog-eared paperbacks ripped apart and tossed into the air, like dirty confetti.

The skylight window was wide open on the starless night, and for a horrible moment, when he couldn't see Spike anywhere, Giles thought that he must have gone out through it. But then Spike’s muffled voice spoke again.

"Please – I never meant…I didn't want…oh God, I hurt the girl!" The last said in such a tone of anguished despair that, despite himself, Giles ached for him. 

He stepped over the threshold and tore away the tumbled bedclothes, to find Spike huddled underneath them, stark naked and curled up into a ball, hands over his head as if to protect himself, shaking all over.

As he reached to touch his shoulder, Giles noted that Spike's broken fingernails were growing back. In fact, some of them were quite long. 

What's more they were dirt encrusted once again, as if he’d been digging in the earth, and there were shreds of torn paper lodged in them. 

The semi-permanent chill down Giles's spine became a shiver of outright fear.

Taking a deep breath, he set his hand down on cool, smooth flesh. "Spike? It's me, Giles."

The shaking didn't stop. If anything, it grew worse.

"Didn't mean to, didn't mean to, didn't mean to," Spike muttered, the words running into each other, they were spoken so fast. 

Giles crouched down awkwardly. He patted Spike's shoulder. 

"Spike? Can you hear me? It's Giles."

The only response was a whimper, so Giles kept patting. At the same time, he became aware of something in the room with them, a presence, and a sound, like singing, at the very edge of hearing. This time it never occurred to him to put it down to his imagination. 

His hand still on Spike's shoulder, he whirled to glare into the shadows. 

"Get lost, you evil bastard! There's nothing for you here."

The darkness seemed to pulse, as it had in the downstairs hallway, and Giles felt his heart pounding. But he kept his gaze steady and after a long, tense moment, the feeling of menace faded, the singing – if it had even been singing – fading along with it.

A deep shudder went through Spike's bowed body, and when Giles looked round, Spike was staring up at him, thin face the very picture of misery.

"I'm sorry," Spike said. "I'm really sorry, Giles. I'll go."

"What?" Giles blinked at him. "Oh, dammit." He gripped Spike's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. "I don't mean you, Spike. I meant – whatever it was."

It was Spike's turn to blink. "Whatever it was?" 

Giles indicated the chaos in the room. "Yes. Whatever caused you to do this."

Spike's gaze followed Giles's pointing finger. His mouth dropped open. " _I_ did? I don't remember." He clutched his head. "At least…there was a song…" 

Giles felt his spirits sink. Unless Spike was a much better actor than Giles gave him credit for, Ms Harkness was right. He wasn’t in control of himself at all.

"Yes, you." Giles took Spike's hand gently in his and showed him the torn scraps of paper caught in his dirty fingernails. "The way you damaged your own hands scrabbling in the dirt out in the fields a few nights back, and the way you slashed yourself on the chest."

He glanced at Spike's chest as he spoke, to see the cuts that Spike had inflicted on himself faded to faint red lines. They formed a pattern – a rune engraved over Spike's heart. Giles's knees turned to jelly as he took in the shape of it. He sank down onto the floor at Spike's side. 

Of course! How could he have been so stupid?

His first thought was, does Travers know? His second, of course he does, the idiot!

"Giles?" Spike's voice was tentative. "You okay?"

"Hardly." Giles took another deep breath. He forced himself to smile at Spike. "Tell me, Spike, just before I opened the door, I heard you talking. You were pleading with someone. Who was it?"

Spike went still. He licked his lips. Then he ducked his head and looked away into the corner of the room, as if he couldn't bear to meet Giles's eyes.

"Was dreaming, I think. Saw her. Buffy."

"Oh." For some reason, it was the last thing Giles had expected. Besides, if the stories were true-

"Ah," he said. "Of course. She's died, not just once but twice. Foolish of me to forget that."

"Dunno what you mean," Spike muttered. "She looked…" his voice faltered. Giles heard him swallow. "She was wearing what she wore that day when I…" 

He buried his face in his hands. Through his fingers, he muttered, "When I tried to rape her."

"I see." Giles kept his voice neutral, though Spike’s words made him acutely uncomfortable for all sorts of reasons. "What did she say?"

Spike's hands dropped away. "She said…she said she'd never forgive me. That getting my soul back made no difference. That I should go away from decent people – from you - hide underground, down in the dark, where I can't hurt anyone ever again."

He turned back to Giles, blue eyes wild. "She's right, isn't she? I'm hurting you. I should never have come to you. I'm dragging you down, into the dirt with me. "

He made to get up, but Giles pulled him back down again.

"It wasn't real, Spike. It's …some demon in Buffy's likeness."

Spike's frantic gaze clung to him. "How do you _know?_ "

Giles thought of Jenny. "I just do. It came to me too, in the guise of someone I…loved once. Said something very similar- tried to get me to throw you out. It has…I believe it has plans for you."

Spike shivered. "What is it? Why is it doing this to me?" 

"I…don't know." No need, Giles thought, to reveal his whole hand until he was certain about Spike one way or the other. "But I'm not going to listen to it. I told you I'll help you, Spike, and I will." 

Spike stared at him. Then he gave a soft sigh of relief, leaned in and before Giles could prevent him, kissed him on the mouth. "Thanks, Giles. Can't tell you how much that means to me. Can't tell you how much I've missed you either."

Giles felt a long shiver of need run down his spine at the touch of Spike's lips. It had been days, and he wanted…But no. What he wanted was wrong, and he had to be strong, for both their sakes.

When Spike leaned in for another kiss, Giles pulled back and made his voice brisk. "Yes, well. Let's tidy up a little, shall we, and get some sleep? We have to leave for London in the morning. Fortunately, the forecast is for rain, or you'd have travel in the boot."

"London?" Spike frowned. "Thought you said it was safer for everyone if I stayed here."

"I've changed my mind." Giles clambered to his feet. He held out a hand and Spike took it. As he stood, the signs of his arousal were all too evident. It was flattering, but Giles made himself look away. 

Ms Harkness was right again. Spike was broken. Until he found a way to fix him, they couldn't do this. Maybe they shouldn’t do it even then?

And maybe Spike wouldn’t want to do it anyway?

Giles let go of Spike's hand and bent to turn the bed upright. But Spike forestalled him, completing the task easily, one handed. As he watched him rearranging the mattress and bedclothes, Giles couldn't help a pang of unease at this reminder of how strong Spike was. 

And the chip. Did it still work? He'd never thought to test it, and when they reached London it might be imperative that it did.

Spike bent to tuck the sheets back in, the lamplight turning his pale skin to honey while contrasting shadows seemed to emphasise his lean, sculpted musculature. Giles frowned, trying not to stare at the velvety cleft between taut buttocks. Was Spike displaying himself in this way on purpose, and if so, at whose instigation?

Crossing to the wardrobe, Giles rummaged among the spilled contents until he found a pair of jeans, more or less intact save for a rip in one knee.

"Here." He tossed them to Spike. "Put these on."

Spike caught the garment obviously by instinct. He looked surprised. "Thought we were gonna go to bed?"

Giles forced himself to smile. "We are. But like I said, we have to be up and doing early. Might as well be ready."

He went back to his rummaging and finally located a solitary undamaged t-shirt. "Here."

When he turned back again, Spike was still staring at him, and still clutching the jeans to his naked chest. 

"There's something else," he said. "What is it?"

Giles thought of lying, but in the end, as always, the truth would out.

"We can't have sex any more, Spike. Not until I know you're free of... whatever's trying to control you."

"But why not?" Then Spike's eyes widened. "Oh. I get it."

They stared at each other, and Giles realised he was holding his breath. He had no idea how Spike would react.

After a moment, Spike shook out the torn jeans and put them on. He made a strange picture, with his bare scarred chest and the tiger striped curls falling into his eyes. His face was a mask of hurt.

"I'm sorry," Giles said, although he hadn't meant to. "It's not forever. Just until we get you sorted. Then we can…I mean, we can, if you still want to."

Spike sat on the edge of the bed with his back to Giles. He bent down and picked up a crumpled pack of cigarettes that had somehow survived the destruction. A moment later the scent of tobacco smoke filled the room.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Maybe."

Giles felt his resolve crumbling in the face of Spike's evident hurt, but he clung to it with the last of his strength. "It's not what you think," he said. "It's not you, Spike. It's me."

Spike smoked in silence for a moment, but then he turned around. "But you won’t throw me out? You'll help me?"

Giles crossed to the bed and sat down, facing Spike across it. "I will. You have my word, Spike. Nothing will part us, and I'll do everything in my power to help you."

Spike exhaled smoke, considering. Then his face softened. "Good enough. More than I deserve anyway." His voice grew shy – almost embarrassed. "Can we still – you know, sleep together? I mean really sleep?" 

Giles thought of Ms Harkness's injunction. Keep him close at all times. But she probably hadn’t meant…He should say no, he supposed.

He smiled. "Just this once."

*

Giles woke with a jerk in the middle of the night. He sat bolt upright, nerves jangling. Spike lay beside him, on his side. His arm had been over Giles's chest but had flopped back onto the bed when Giles sat up.

Giles shivered in the chill wind that blew through the skylight. Then, so far away that he wasn't sure he'd actually heard it, the singing started up again. That same wretched tune. 

_Early one mo-orning…_

Spike stirred and muttered. Then, "Mother," he said, quite clearly. 

Giles's skin crawled. Reaching across to the bedside table, he switched on the lamp, chasing the shadows back into their corners.

"Go away," he said, loudly. "You shan't have him."

Again, he glared defiance into the dark, while the song echoed in his ears, until it faded into mocking laughter.


End file.
